How To Make You Laugh
by Sherlockian Dreams
Summary: Sherlock's 'experiment' goes wrong, and he's waiting nervously for John's return. Just a little one shot.


How to make you laugh

**Disclaimer: I do not own these amazing characters; they belong to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle and in this case Mark Gatiss and Steven Moffat! Thank you so much BBC, for bringing these wonderful characters to my life!**

_A/n: this is just a little 221B fic I thought of between writing my other story, __**Flickering Light. **__It was just an impulse thing. Don't ask me why I wrote it I honestly don't know. Anyway, I hope you like it xxx _

_5 hours until John came back from work. _

I stared somewhat- guiltily? - At the kitchen. Well, what was left of the kitchen. I hadn't meant for the experiment to go so badly wrong.

Oh god what was John going to say?

I stared at my hands, covered in the remains of the experiment as thoroughly as the kitchen itself.

I might need to wash them…

_4 hours until John came back from work._

I spent a long time just staring, not really able to comprehend it. What should I do? What would John do? My eyes flickered to the clock. Watching the time tick by, counting every second to John's return.

_3 hours until John came back from work._

I shouted Mrs Hudson, very aware that she probably wouldn't be happy with me either.

"Oh dear!" she exclaimed as I lead her into the mess. I eyed her sheepishly.

"What am I going to do? John will be back soon!" I cried out desperately. Mrs Hudson sighed and then burst into giggles of laughter.

"Dear me, you do know how to make me laugh!" she chortled quietly.

I frowned. I didn't think the situation was very funny. John certainly wouldn't find it funny.

So why was she laughing?

"Here Sherlock, you use this one," she put a bottle in my hand, "it's very good and I got it cheap, you know, on offer,"

I nodded vaguely. Meanwhile, she had headed out and was now backing with a dustpan and brush.

"I'll do the sweeping for you dear," she smiled kindly, and a little sympathetically at me.

We set to work…

_2 hours until John came back from work._

Mrs Hudson and I had somehow failed to make the kitchen look any better.

"John is going to be angry isn't he?" I asked her, as I twisted my hands in a state of nervousness.

I remembered our last conversation where my- umm- experiments were concerned.

_Okay, Sherlock this is the last time this is happening do you understand?_

_But-_

_No, no buts, I need a promise Sherlock. I can't keep coming back from work to find the bloody flat in this bloody state, okay?_

_I'm sorry-_

_No you're not. You're doing those stupid puppy eyes again. You're trying to soften me again!_

_But-_

_Sherlock…_

_Fine, ok, I promise…_

John didn't like broken promises.

Mrs Hudson patted me on the back, setting down the brush.

"No dear, John's not going to be angry,"

I didn't believe her for a second.

My gaze travelled over the kitchen again.

I suppose it looked a little better.

I wondered again how I could go so wrong! I'm sure no one else ever made a mistake like that. It shouldn't be as difficult as it was, surely.

_1 hour until John came home from work._

I was feeling a little nervous. I sat in my armchair, alone (as Mrs Hudson had long since given up on the task of saving the kitchen) and wondered if there was any way to distract John from the mess. Could I cover it up somehow?

I could take him out? Didn't he like that Chinese restaurant down the road? Im sure he did.

At least I had an excuse to do it; it wouldn't seem so out of character.

I slid out of my chair and picked up my phone.

When do you finish work? SH

In half an hour, you know that. Why? JW

Do you want to meet at that Chinese Restaurant you like? SH

WHY? JW

_Oh God, he was using caps lock now._

It's your birthday isn't it? SH

Since when did you take me out on my birthday, Sherlock? JW

My fingers faltered. What should I say?

My phone buzzed again.

What. Have. You. Done? JW

_Uh oh. He's using full stops between words… _I swallowed. He really was getting cleverer.

Nothing. I just think it nice for you to have a meal. SH

I waited anxiously for reply.

And then there was the sound of a key in the lock.

I jumped out of my skin, not used to getting caught unawares. John was back already?

Oh no, oh no, oh no.

I jumped out of my chair, and blocked the doorway, smiling at him, as he stomped up the stairs.

I have to say, he looked dangerous.

"You're back early," I told him, keeping my voice as steady as I could.

He held up his phone.

"I left to see what you are up to Sherlock, you think I'm not used to your diverging tactics?"

_Ah._

"Well, I umm, I-," I stammered.

His eyes narrowed.

"What have you done Sherlock?" he _sounded_ dangerous now too. Oh dear lord.

Before I could say any more, he pushed past me, into the flat.

Where he stopped dead, frozen, eyes wide, staring at the kitchen.

"Jesus bloody Christ Sherlock, what did you do?" he gasped, not sounding all too happy.

I ran a hand through my hair, and blew out a deep breath.

"I tried to make you a cake," I admitted finally, after a moments silence, "it turns out I can't really cook that well- I'm-," I paused. John always said it was good to say sorry didn't he?- "I'm sorry, John,"

I looked down sheepishly. I felt bad. I waited for the explosion that always came after the silence, when I did something wrong.

But then the explosion I was expecting was nothing to what I heard.

John was laughing.

He was actually laughing his head off, eyes watering.

What. The. Hell?

"Oh Sherlock!" he giggled, "thank you for the thought- but-," he paused to catch breath, "you should – really- leave the- cooking- to me-,"and he lapsed into laughter once again.

"You're not angry with me?" I frowned at him, more than a little shocked.

"No you great idiot, why would I be angry?"

I looked down.

"I blew up the oven," I said in little more than a whisper.

He roared with laughter again, and went over to hug me.

"Yes but you were trying to make me a birthday cake Sherlock, it's not your fault you're inept at anything food related!"

I cracked a smile. Was he really not angry?

"Happy birthday John," I said weakly, gesturing around me.

He giggled again.

"Thanks a lot Sherlock," he shook his head, "now shall we clean this up?"

I nodded eagerly, as he led me into the kitchen.

"I'll give you a lesson in cleaning," he chuckled, "Christ Sherlock you know how to make me laugh,"

_A/n: let me know what you think!_


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